Things My Bofriend Taught Me

1. The difference between various pooping phrases (actually he just informed me this should be item number two) apparently there is a difference between poop, crap, dump, and dare I say it, shit. A poop is just a single log. A crap is a quick affair, but could possibly consist of several lumps. A dump is where it starts to get pretty serious as it involves dumping everything inside you into the toilet. And last (but definitely not least) a shit is reserved only for those who are sick and quite possibly dying.

2. How to shoot a gun (which could prove disadvantageous to him in the end).

3. How to use a butterfly knife-more ways to harm myself.

4. How to get away with farting in someone’s face (the only real way is to lie, like a lot, and promise to be their slave for eternity). Or you just have to find someone who loves you enough to not care. Honestly it should bother me more that he farted in my face but I chose to see it as a learning experience as well as leverage when I want something down the road (like pretty jewelry!).

5. He thinks he taught me how to make a fire, but really it was the other way around (shh don’t tell).

6. How to punch imaginary people-a very marketable skill.

7. That women are terrible drivers (don’t worry I apparently drive like a man).

8. He says he taught me how to do laundry and dishes, but I already knew how to do those. He promptly asked if I know how to do those things why I, in fact, never do them. I didn’t really have an answer for that one.

9. That not all guys are douche bags.

10. A few “old man” expressions (like what it means to “buy the farm” ).

11. The difference between a rifle and a shotgun (although to be completely honest I still have no idea).

12. That it is stupid to work out ALL day without a break. You WILL get tired and end up begging your girlfriend for scratchies, whining like a puppy and nipping at her leg. Also probably licking her face…

 

So as you can see I have learned a wealth of knowledge from this dear boy. Not sure what I would do without him!

Yes It Is Completely Necessary For Me To Own This Many Clothes

So I was driving home with my boyfriend and his brothers from one of their family’s birthday hooplas. These things seem to be happening all the time what with the birthdays of the four kids, two parents, freeloading girlfriend and family friends. That combined with the interspersed holidays and various celebrations it seems like we are always going out to dinner for something. Don’t get me wrong I would never turn down a free meal and I actually enjoy these family get-togethers, it just seems like we are always wanted somewhere for something. Anyway a conversation started about the various complexities of our wardrobes. May I just point out that I was in a car with three other grown men and I was not the one to bring up the subject. Just sayin.

They ranged from simplest (having a designated outfit for everyday of the week and that’s it) to most complicated (I have clothes all over the floor all the time, no room in my closet or drawers and I try on like five outfits a day to find the perfect match).  Both of these extremes may seem ridiculous (although I do envy the simplicity of never having to think about what to wear) but to be honest I believe the “happy medium” was the least logical. Now this may be because I am a person of extremes and mainstream logic is lost on me, but honestly I think my wardrobe is the most logical! There definitely is a method to my madness. I don’t just have a ton of clothes because I want a ton of clothes. I have an obscene amount of clothing because I NEED them! I could not go on without them! Well I could I would just go around naked a lot. As I began to describe my logic to the normals they kinda started to look at me like I was crazy (the simplest who was practically destitute didn’t even bother to respond, I think to even acknowledge me would have been too much for his fragile state of mind) they seemed to believe having a decent wardrobe was a luxury, not a matter of basic survival. But really without that perfect outfit I would go out of the house naked and end up in jail.

Let me explain. I can’t just throw on anything in my closet. It’s not just about what matches! (that’s right Rich I’m talking to you). I have to first think of something that might look good together. I must consider whether it is appropriate for the place I’m going (work, Disneyland etc.). Just kidding I go to other places too! Like Macys… I also have to factor in the people I might see, the role I will be playing socially, the weather.  If it’s chilly I might need a light sweater, cold a thick one, if it’s windy there cannot be any holes in the sweater and I might need two of them, if there is snow I have to wear all of the sweaters I own. If its summer you have to think of whether it might rain, whether swimming will be involved and gauge your general level of modesty versus how hot it is and if maybe you don’t care looking like a slut cuz that is less embarrassing than passing out from heat stroke and then promptly peeing your pants, or skirt, or shorts. Note: if it’s a family thing I would rather pass out and pee myself then wear something revealing. I prefer looks of pity and disgust to those of “she’s a whore and a heathen” and “why haven’t we kicked her out of the family and stopped inviting her to these things, the kids will think its okay to be a prostitute”. Then again I think I’ve already been kicked out because of the pink hair and piercings so that’s one less wardrobe possibility to worry about.

Then there are the shoes and pants and what’s clean(basically whether my boyfriend has seen my room lately and gotten so overwhelmed by the look of it that he has stolen my clothes and cleaned them-I almost never do laundry). I must also factor in what I wore on the same day of last week (I was once asked if I wore a certain outfit the same day last week in elementary school and I’ve been scarred ever since) and whether that specific person saw me in it last time we hung out. Whether its appropriate for work is another thing I must consider as I hardly ever wear the designated uniform, if my manager is working I can get away with a little more in the way of wardrobe flexibility. My level of exhaustion is also a factor as the more tired I am the less likely I am to want to wear a multi-piece outfit or anything that is an energy zapper. My level of fatness also plays a factor as unlike boys, women’s weight tends to fluctuate more drastically and since women’s outfits are generally tighter it could totally throw half of the wardrobe out of the realm of possibility. Her period (I know men go ahead and cringe) also affects her general mood and level of bloatedness which in turn makes her never want to wear clothes again, never want to be in public again, or just want to wear sweats for the rest of her life. Also wearing anything white is out of the question.

What you plan on eating that day can also make a huge difference. If I plan on having a salad I can wear the tightest pants I own and feel fabulous. If I am going to a buffet I must wear something stretchy so I can gorge myself in order to get my moneys worth (or rather my boyfriend’s father’s moneys worth.) If a pedicure is on the agenda skinny jeans and tennis shoes are out of the question (again thanks boyfriend’s dad!). Basically before getting dressed I have to think of every possible outcome for the day (I may even bring a change of clothes if I am unsure) and be prepared for everything. Honestly I’m not sure where these complexities arise from. My first thought would be that its obviously because I’m a girl, but I thinks it’s less my girlyness (if you would be bold enough to say that I had any) and more my general anxiety of being stuck uncomfortable, ugly or naked, in public. So there it is, more that you ever wanted to know about my thought process while I stand naked, staring at my closet and rifling through shit on my floor.

The Kitten From Hell-Also Reasons I Shouldn’t Be A Pet Owner

My friend rescued a cute fluffy little kitten and since he was unable to keep it at his apartment he gave it to me to babysit for a while. And let me tell you I was so excited! I love furry small things! He brought over the kitty and all of his swag and I just knew this was going to be great! I had visions of me and my kitten playing and snuggling together and we would just become the best of friends! It turns out kittens are actually from the devil and not that fun to have around. The only time he ever cuddled with me was when he was trying to sleep on my face.

This particular kitty had a problem with biting, and pooping, and peeing, and scratching. Somehow this was the dumbest cat ever. He pooped multiple times within centimeters of his bathroom pad. He peed on my roommate (but I’m pretty sure he could tell she hated him so maybe he is smarter than I thought). Every time I moved he would follow me around and bite my ankles. If I locked him out of a room for even a second (For instance going to the bathroom was out of the question) he would whine until I returned. He was a furry guilt trip who followed me around everywhere and for someone with anxiety it’s pretty much the worst thing ever. I had to feed him and make sure he was okay all the time. If something happened to him I was responsible. I had to clean up the pee and poo, I had to replace anything that he might destroy it was enough to make me never want to have kids! (which is definitely saying something since I’ve wanted to be a mother since I was 13 yrs old).

 

Now, don’t get me wrong, this kitten was the cutest thing I have ever seen in my life and everything he did was adorable at first, but it got old fast. The cat lasted 48 hours. By that time I was so stressed out and hated the thing so much I would’ve thrown him out of the window if I had the guts-especially the moment right after he lunged for my face and tried to gouge my eyeball out. I guess my sister’s two failed attempts to keep a dog as a pet should have given me some advance notice but somehow I was under the illusion that this would be a great experience for me. I guess in a way it was a good experience as I learned that I am not a cat person and should never own a cat under any circumstances because what would most likely end up happening would be death to the kitty or ulcers for the human. Possibly and probably both…

Cannibal? Vampire? Cannibalistic Vampire?

I make lists for everything. I am terrified that any given thought could just disappear and vanish forever. I am convinced that if I were to lose any one of them, it would be the genius idea I had been waiting for-the million-dollar idea. But in reality they are probably just insignificant jargon. Regardless, I am convinced that I had a gem when I was writing down my list of blog ideas. Unfortunately this is how i tend to write my blog: I alternate from being on crack to being in rehab and then relapsing and going straight back to rehab (aka I write like five blogs in one day, then don’t write anything for a few months, then five in one day). Knowing this about myself I figured it would be good to keep a running list of ideas so I could crack out on blogging later, but as I was reading my list the other day I realized I had no idea what one of the ideas meant!

My List went something like this: 1. Miliezilla-normal enough 2. About pies-ok I get that one 3. The day I was forced to become a cannibalistic vampire-okay…wait, wtf?! What does that even mean??? That I eat people and suck people’s blood? That I eat other vampires? Did this really happen? What was my angle? Out of all of the things to forget I’m pretty sure this is one I should have remembered. Now I am honestly concerned I’ve been eating people in my sleep…or vampires and am in fact a vampire. I’m not sure which would be more disturbing. Although that same day I looked at the list I had bit Russ pretty hard, but that was mostly self defense so I’m pretty sure it doesn’t count. Plus the whole vampire thing is out of the question because, as my boyfriends brother pointed out the bite mark was ridiculously tiny (he didn’t believe I actually bit him) and looked more like ringworm that a human bite…needless to say I have a really tiny mouth-much too small to make it my only source of nutrition!

I was determined to get to the bottom of this mystery and asked everyone what they thought it could possibly mean. Not that they weren’t helpful, but the best idea was that it had to do with a movie. This most definitely isn’t the case as I  would never say, “look! A vampire movie! I want to write a blog about that it is so interesting and not juvenile at all!” Besides, if I were to write about any movie it would definitely be the Saw movies, as I have plenty of genius ideas to add to that series  (thank you best friend’s ex for giving me my million-dollar idea by allowing me to fantasize about your torture and death). Which maybe could have been the answer (it was a million-dollar idea after all) except for the fact that the saw movies don’t actually have any fantastical creatures in it.

When I did finally finish mulling it over I decided I must have been high when I wrote it (even though I have never been high, except that one time accidentally). It is a bit of a cop out if I’m being honest, but I’ve never been that good at remembering or keeping track of things (even when I do write it down) and it makes me feel better than the truth. I’d rather just assume immaculate highness then have to come to terms with the person I may or may not have become.

I Only Pretend Like I Can Cook

I thought it would be a good idea to make pies for thanksgiving…from scratch. No big deal. I had seen my mom make them a thousand times, even helped a little. Pretty much I had this in the bag. So I gathered all of the ingredients, called my mom for the recipe and prepared to cook the pies before work. First mistake: assuming that I could get up early enough to make pies before work. Second mistake: thinking I could make pie crust without a rolling pin. Third mistake: thinking I could make pies (or anything for that matter) period.

I started with the crust because that sounded like the most logical thing to do. I figured (by looking at the recipe) that it would take like ten minutes to make the crust. I mean there weren’t very many ingredients, and crusts aren’t really that big. I was very wrong. Making the crusts took me about an hour and a half.

People say that if you can follow a recipe, you can bake (or is it cook? I honestly don’t know the difference). Which I guess is true, but they make it sound like the easiest thing in the world! In reality in order to follow a recipe you need to know another language and have all sorts of nifty gadgets that cost a billion dollars. I learned this the hard way. Apparently  to make the crust you need a quisineart or whatever the hell it’s called. You also need a rolling pin. It’s pretty unreasonable for them to expect me to have some fancy contraption like I’ve actually baked something before.These people (the recipe masters that is) expect way too much.

After I put all of the ingredients together they told me to fluff it with a fork. Now maybe I am just a simpleton, but I was at a complete loss as to how to fluff anything with a fork. Forks aren’t that fluffy and really the only thing I know how to fluff is a pillow, which pretty much involves beating it and I wasn’t about to start punching the powdery substance…or was I? We won’t mention every method I tried before I settled on acting like a total flamer tossing powder everywhere with a fluffy attitude. I think it worked. Even though every single crust did turn out completely different I decided there wasn’t much I could do as I had to be at work in a half hour and I still had to make the gooey goodness in the middle. Just as a note before I move on here are some other ridiculous words that are supposedly in English but are usually reserved for the cooking community: bloop, coddle, braise, flake, fold, dredge, the list goes on.  Plus they always try to make you do things to ingredients that sound ridiculous and you probably shouldn’t be doing to them. Like toss a salad (I did that once, it was weird and somewhat similar to fluffing with a fork).

The gooey mess was much easier to mix up, but maybe that’s just because my friend was helping me out at that point. The part where I had a significant amount of trouble was getting it into the pie tins. At first all went well. The pie mix went into the pie tin and nothing blew up. And then somehow we had like half of the mix left and didn’t know what else to do with it so I began to “top off” all of the pies. This seemed just fine until we had to put the pies in the oven. It turns out that when something is really full with a liquidy substance and only supported by aluminum, you shouldn’t try to move it. Like at all. Pie filling went everywhere. It buried the beautiful crust it took a lifetime to make, covered the burners (creating a fun burn smell later) and spread across the counters. We attempted to do damage control and mop up the delicious mess while trying to keep the pies looking presentable, but we were beat before we even started. The pies did end up tasting quite good if I do say so myself (besides the brown burnt crust that is).

Needless to say the pies turned out okay, but it was quite an ordeal. It turned out much better than the time I tried to make cupcakes though! My roommate assured me it was foolproof, but apparently I am a special kind of fool who was able to out-fool the recipe. They turned out more like ugly mountainy looking muffins. Basically I think I just try to overload everything. They should probably be more specific in these so called recipes because not everything is obvious to the general public. They should also have a glossary of defined terms. It’s enough to make you never want to cook again. Thankfully the holidays are far enough apart (and I have a selective enough memory) that I forget the last disaster enough to attempt something even more ridiculous! My next project is Almond Roca. It should be a fantastic catastrophe.

Don’t Judge Me, Peeing is a Process

It’s a well known fact that girls take longer to use the bathroom than guys do. This becomes even more prevalent in public restrooms. It’s a bit awkward when you are with a group and you all split up to pee before a movie or something- even worse if you are on a date. I am always paranoid that the guy is going to think that I waited for this moment to take a dump, so I try to go as quickly as possible, but to be honest it’s difficult to be quick in a public restroom. First you have to walk down the rows of stalls and find the right one. Conditions are hardly ever ideal and there is a lot to consider. Does it have toilet paper? Does the lock work? Is there poo in the toilet? Is there toilet paper on the floor or blood on the seat? I have encountered all of these situations at one point or another and even though it would be easier to just flush a floater I don’t want to risk any splashing from a stranger’s excrement.

If it is a dark or secluded restroom or even just nighttime you have to check all of the stalls for creepers because all of us women operate under the assumption that murderers stalk their prey ready to pounce on their next victims in the stalls of women’s restrooms. Once you take the time to find the right stall and made sure there are no homicidal maniacs ready to end your life, you have to decide the best way not to come in contact with a thousand other peoples germs. You can use a seat cover, but they aren’t always stocked or available and let’s be honest are you really going to trust that thin tissue paper to protect you from whatever disease the last person who sat on that toilet could’ve been carrying? So then, you are basically left with the squat and aim option, which is not easy. Let’s just hope you didn’t exercise the day before because if you are sore you’re screwed. You may as well lick the toilet seat because you aren’t doing any aerial urination today.

If you choose to use a seat cover you have to also deal with the disposal of it. It is supposed to just flush with the rest of the stuff, but it never does. You have to keep nudging it with your foot so that eventually it catches on and swirls down with the rest of it. I am always afraid that it’s only going to go half way down and then get stuck. Maybe that is just paranoia, but I have a moment of panic after I have nudged all I can and I just sort of have to coax it down. Come on, come on! Go down! There is also a bit of anxiety attached to HOW to flush the toilet. Since I was about five years old I have been using my foot to flush. This can get complicated depending on the mechanism for flushing, but my mom always taught me to never touch a toilet handle in a public restroom. When I was little I’m sure it was pretty funny as I could barely reach and even now half the time I almost lose my balance. The automatic toilets suck because they never flush when they are supposed to and you either end up with a wet butt or a moral dilemma of whether or not it’s ok to leave an unflushed toilet.

Once the toilet starts to flush the trick is to get the hell out of the stall before getting splashed by the tsunami level waves of water swirling down. This is almost impossible because most of the doors open inward and to get out you have to straddle the toilet in order to have enough room to exit. I have found it is best to just stand up against the door and squish as far flat against it while covering your face so you don’t get too wet, but  no matter what it is always a traumatizing experience. Once you hurry out of there, trying not to shudder too much from the trauma, you have to wash your hands. Now, I don’t know what dumbass invented the sinks where you push the lever and it gives you three seconds to do your business before it turns off. Or else you have to stick your elbows in the water while your wrist tries to hold it down long enough to get the soap off your hands, but apparently it was really popular in the nineties. If you are lucky enough to get a normal sink that’s great, but most places who are updated enough to have gotten out of the nineties have the automatic systems that only work half of the time. It’s like rocket science trying to figure out how to work the sinks, the soaps and the dryers. Not to mention the fact that you look like an idiot trying to figure them out. Its like, “This is supposed to be automatic! It does this shit on its own and I can’t figure out how to get the damn water out!”

The dryers are also a nightmare. I never have the patience for them, but I always think that I do so I waste the time trying to get the semi-dry, but give up half way through. I just wipe them on my butt because it takes three hours to air-dry your hands and it ends up looking like I just peed my pants or something. I try to make a point of wiping my hands on my way out so people see me and will not assume I peed, but rather that I just got lazy and used my pants not as a toilet, but to dry my hands instead.  Before leaving the bathroom (as if this whole situation hasn’t been stressful and time consuming enough) I have to check to make sure I look good, especially if I am on a date. Hair needs to be checked, make up reapplied and if you by chance went to the bathroom with a friend (which is likely as girls often go in packs), you have to do all of this while having a conversation. So, the next time you guys are wondering what is taking your lady friend so long in the bathroom, just remember all these steps the girl has to go through EVERYtime she pees. And be grateful you have a dick.

Lies I Tell Myself on (Almost) a Daily Basis

1. Run, it will make you feel better.

2. The creepy Mexican man I run by doesn’t check out my butt, he just has eye problems.

3. I will decrease my caffeine consumption and my use of swear words before I have kids.

4. If I have little girls they won’t someday end up hating me.

5. None of my piercings hurt and there isn’t even a little part of me that enjoys people’s reactions to them.

6. I will eat better tomorrow.

7. Donuts aren’t that bad.

8. Coffee isn’t that bad either.

9. As long as it is almost expired it’s ok to steal your roommates’ food (or as long as they don’t notice).

10. I’m not turning into my mother.

11. If my mother knew EVERYTHING about me, she would still love me.

12. My boyfriend and I aren’t THAT disgustingly romantic.

13. I am completely ok with waiting five to ten years to have kids. I am not baby hungry.

14. Everybody goes through a Justin Bieber phase. I don’t have the fever.

15. That wasn’t blood on my belly button ring.

16. I love my job!

17. I’m not addicted to my phone.

18. Or my computer.

19. Or coffee (it was a coincidence that I turned into a total bitch the one week I tried cutting down on it).

20. My therapist doesn’t judge me or my life choices.

21. I have enough composure to use self check out machines. It’s not like I lose it and yell at the chick who tells me to put my already bagged item in the bag.

22. I understand emoticons

No, I’m Not a Lesbian, I just like Girl Dates

Girl dates are awesome! They are definitely better than real dates. I would much rather spend time with one of my girlfriends then with some guy I may or may not be interested in who may or may not try to get into my pants. Girl dates are just so much more reliable. It is much more likely I will have a good time with my friend than a guy. There is already an established relationship, I know that I already enjoy the person’s company, and I am comfortable being around them. With guys there is more chance for awkward moments and uncomfortable silences. You have to talk about the mundane basics and you have to censor yourself. You can’t make references to the time you went crazy, stopped eating and dropped out of school. You can’t make ‘my dad’s dead jokes’. If you did either of these things he would think you had gone insane and might possibly be better off in an institution.

 

When I am on a date with one of my girls I can eat as much as I want and whatever I want. I can smother my salad in ranch without having to suffer through a monologue about how women who complain about not losing weight when they put dressing on their salad are idiots and I can eat five rolls without getting that up and down judgmental look from the other side of the table that seems to say, “really? You are going to eat another one?”  If I feel inappropriate or bitchy I can act that way. “Did you see that girl’s hair cut?!” I can also belch whenever I please and swear like a sailor (apparently it is unladylike to swear and men like “a lady on the street, but a freak in the bed”).

 

Which brings us to the best part of girl dates: you never have to put out! Unless of course one of your girlfriends actually has a crush on you which could potentially get awkward. On a girl date you can wear a dress, sexy jeans, or heels without someone trying to stick their tongue down your throat or worse.  You can flirt with the waiters, text other people, actually have opinions about what you do, you can whine or talk in funny voices, and sing along with the radio, its great! It’s actually possible to have a fun and relaxing time without feeling like a shut-in who can’t get a date. It’s a great solution if you are tired of going on real dates and especially if you have just gone through a break up.

 

I originally stopped dating because the guys I went out with only ever wanted to make out as I just recently got out of a relationship and am not ready to jump into anyone else’s arms. I found my schedule suddenly freed up and my weekends full of laundry, chores and mystery novels. But then I discovered the magnificence that is the “girl date”. I never have to be alone, bored, and pathetic on the weekends again! Granted there are a lot less free meals in my life these days, but I still get to dress up and look pretty without having to make out with some mildly attractive guy who thinks the fact that he has faint abs makes him a ten. And you find that two sexy girls out on a Friday night actually get hit on quite a bit so you still get that self esteem boost without have to do anything disgusting. And you know your girl will always call you the next day!

Ten Reasons my Mother Could Never Work for the CIA

1. I don’t even know if my mom has ever seen a gun in her life let alone shot one.

2. She drives like a grandma! Every time we get in the car it’s, “no you go ahead, and you too sir” it takes years to get anywhere! And somehow she still manages to run into everyone and everything. She would definitely not hold up in any sort of chase.

3. She dances in public (not very discreet).

4.  When she approaches her allies she tends to creep them out so much they would probably pull a gun on her. Just this morning when she came to pick me up at Starbucks she crept up behind me while I was engrossed in a book and whispered in my ear. I was so startled that if I had been carrying a gun she would surely have got a bullet in her skull.

5. When she talks about people in public she tends to speak loudly and point. It makes everyone uncomfortable; not exactly covert ops.

6. She tends to confuse words. Any sort of code would be butchered and she would probably instruct her fellow agents to kill innocent people.

7. She would flirt with all of the guys she went after to kill and compromise the whole mission.

8. She’s a mom. She would most likely try to mother the criminals. While this might make for a semi-entertaining comedy in the film industry I doubt it would be very effective in real life situations and with actual hardened criminals.

9. She would abuse her legal authority, using it to keep her family in check. I wouldn’t put it past her to implant a tracking device into my skin and bust down the door if I ever had a guy over.

10. Her alias would be Grandma Ladybug.

Prostitute from the Seventies or just a Bridesmaid?

I have been a bridesmaid three times so far (yes I am painfully aware of the fact that this means I will never get married) and every time has been a unique experience. The latest of these weddings’ most memorable aspect was the bridesmaid dresses. The first wedding had an atrocious bridesmaid dress (a forest green velvet top and cream pleats for the skirt, complete with a matching hat), but it was the nineties so I will forgive that one. The second was adorable; however, expensive. The final wedding involved a dark blue dress (if you can call it that). It was really just a skirt with two strips of fabric about six feet long. They expected us to wrap it in some fashion in order to cover every part of our top that needed to be covered which was nearly impossible. It took me three half hour long practice sessions in order to finally settle on an acceptable, albeit sort of ugly, style- a tube top with a bit shorter skirt and to make it more modest, a cardigan. All the other styles either exposed some vital part (large sections of the back, a boob or two, and midriff) or made one look like a prostitute from the seventies (with a tail).

 

It’s a wonder we endure these awful things at all! They are long, stressful and expensive events. The couple has to go through endless planning and then get all dressed up after having spent their life savings on outfits they will never wear again, food that isn’t for them and pictures to remember the awfully long day that is now just a blur. Nobody sleeps the night before (the bride is too excited/nervous, the wedding party is too busy finishing up the last touches, and the caterers are also finishing up their procrastinations) so on top of all the stress everyone is tired and just that much crankier.

 

Not only do you have to deal with the wedding itself, but there are many other festivities you are expected to take part in. Specifically there is a bridal shower and a bachelorette party. There are multitudes of embarrassing games and activities involved and all three of these events require gifts. Attendance and participation in these parties is just what is expected of you on a social level. It’s not only just for those who know the bride really well. Everyone is expected to contribute.

 

On the actual day of the wedding everyone has to take tons and tons of pictures. Pictures are stressful in the most benign of circumstances, but these things are going to be framed and posted on fb with or without your permission and you are going to most likely be doing weird things like bending over, chewing, picking your nose, etc. As if all of the relatives and acquaintances with cameras trying to document this blessed event aren’t enough, there is a hired professional photographer and at every table a disposable camera is placed for every guest to capture even more embarrassing footage. If you happen to make it through the thousands of photos, you also must deal with the fragility of the bride’s family.

 

Due to the immense stress on the bride and her family that day it is best to keep your  mouth shut when it comes to just about everything. When the bride’s mother suggests you alter the dress style you spent an hour and a half choosing, it’s best to just comply (no matter how ugly her suggestion may be). When the bridesmaids’ dresses are hideous, you don’t tell the bride. That’s just rude! SO that is why me and one of the bridesmaids decided to make a video for the bride after the wedding- first to tell her how much we love her and second to tell her how we really feel about the dresses. But, honestly it’s smart of the bride to pick hideous dresses. I mean, there is no way we could look better than her. She for sure gets to be the prettiest one in the room. In fact if I ever do get married (which we all know isn’t going to happen) and I don’t elope (even less likely) I am going to pick THE MOST disgusting dresses I can find. I will definitely want to make sure that even if my bridesmaids are naturally prettier and skinnier than me I will still look better. Plus, I have to get them all back for the torture they put me through. I might also mention here that I will most likely have to endure three plus more of these awful occasions. So there will be much to get back at my friends for.

 

Finally I will end with the worst part of weddings. Worse than making small talk with family you’ve never met before, spending lots of money on gifts, being bored out of your mind while people snap endless pictures of you, wearing a terrible dress, realizing that you are losing one of your best friends and worse than the jealousy of still being alone: the crying. And no I’m not talking about the mom, I am talking about me. I bawl my eyes out every time. I wish I could say it was because I was insanely jealous (that would be way less embarrassing), but I honestly am just so touched to see my loved ones so happy (bleh!) After weddings, complete with all of their primping and girly emotions, I feel the need to do manly meaningless tasks like playing video games and consider going weeks without makeup or showering. In reality it would just be easier for everyone involved and save me a lot of hassle and time if everyone just eloped.